


The Legend of Two Kings

by Milo



Category: Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24096316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milo/pseuds/Milo
Summary: A little, familiar folktale about the origins of Unova.
Kudos: 7





	The Legend of Two Kings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Poke Myths Guidebook](https://pokemythsguidebook.tumblr.com/)!

Long, long ago there was a kingdom in the mountains. It was small, but homely, and its citizens lived in peace. The land was overseen by a noble king and his loyal grey dragon. 

Though the dragon had large claws, sharp fangs, and dangerous attacks, none feared it. Within its heart laid the same adoration as their king, who loved his subjects as a father would his children. Indeed, the king was the proud father of fraternal twin sons. Both were groomed as his heirs, neither seeing favor. The king cared equally for both of his children. 

However, as the king grew old and passed away, the kingdom fell upon the shoulders of the two boys, now grown men. The throne was shared between them as per their father’s request. The dragon, too, pledged its service. 

Much like their father, the two brothers were committed to their kingdom. Yet they both had different ideas about how to make it the prospering utopia they so hoped it to be. The elder brother, a quiet but dignified scholarly type, sought solace in books; written history, scientific fact, mathematics, and the universal ways of the world. The younger, in his heart and imagination; he followed the creative spark, the voices of the people, and the philosophies of his teachers.

The differences between them clashed. Each and every decision was a battle of wit and heart, no matter how large or small. Each claimed to be more right than the other. The kingdom, too, was divided, with people siding one way or the other. 

Soon the two brothers descended into resentment, taking residence in different castles, only appearing together when decisions had to be made. The loyal dragon, who loved both as dearly as their father had, was conflicted. It couldn’t prioritize one over the other. Neither were wrong. 

As the schism between the siblings widened, the dragon reached a breaking point. The beast tore itself apart; into a magnificent white beast of feather and flame, and an awe-inspiring black creature of scale and lightning. Now each with their own dragon at their command, the two brothers met on the battlefield. But, try as they might, fight after fight, neither could best the other. 

Years of conflict passed. Eventually, the brothers, old and greying, finally laid down their arms. Truth and ideals, two equal sides, for the sake of the kingdom, the quarrel needed to end.

Their sons did not agree.

Newly crowned and full of life, the cousins descended upon each other. Without the same brotherly bond that their fathers possessed, they fought tooth and nail against one another. Wars waged, soldiers trained, weapons perfected, voices raised. Wildfires blazed through the cityscape as dry thunderstorms raged overhead. 

The once tranquil kingdom capsized on itself. 

The kings succumbed within the ravaged country, buried by their well-guarded beliefs. The dragons disappeared in the chaos, falling dormant in hopes that one day the age old conflict spanning generations would someday be soothed...

…

Hope… 

Such a novel thing only present in folktales and legends. Biding time with pitiful hope means nothing to those who have been forgotten, to one barely clinging to existence. To one discarded in a brazen, thoughtless attempt to pacify fickle minds. 

Fallen, fallen, from the throne, from the sky. Fallen, fallen, into the ground. 

A Nincada shell. Frostbite clinging to rotted limbs. What is there to say about a hollow being, one stripped of its mind? Fill the empty husk, become whole again. Regain the value of the ancient past. Combine. Consume. How the flesh of mortals does nothing to replenish the barren wasteland within. No satisfaction found in these meager attempts to fix what should never have been broken.

What was that feeling that held us together in the beginning? There is nothing here. Only ice now, only ice...


End file.
